


and it echoes when I breathe

by thefilthremains



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And a lil bit of humour, Body Worship, Cullenlingus, Drabble Collection, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, there's a lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthremains/pseuds/thefilthremains
Summary: “You okay?” Her voice is soft, almost concerned.“Mm,” He hums, “more than okay.”--A collection of miscellaneous nsfw drabbles based of an alphabet prompt list!!





	1. Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A = Aftercare

Cullen’s fingertips trace the swell of her hips, war-calloused hands roaming over the heated flesh as the chilled air cools the sweat on her skin. He smiles as he watches her breathe. He loves to watch her like this, bare and sprawled out over the sheets as she stares absently into the empty air above her. His eyes follow the line of moonlight that halos her figure, over the curve of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, to where his fingers brush over her skin.  
  
She rolls over to face him after a little while and she’s looking at him with those bright blue eyes of hers. It's nice, enjoying the night through that blissful post-coital buzz, without the worry of titles or missions or reports.

“You okay?” Her voice is soft, almost concerned.

“Mm,” He hums, “more than okay.”

She stifles a giggle with a hand before bringing it to rest on his cheek, and he feels her thumb brushing gently over the stubble there.

“I’m glad to hear it.” She murmurs, before planting a soft kiss to his lips.


	2. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B = Bodies (Amalthea)

Cullen sits in the water with his arms folded over the side of the tub, chest pressing against the rim as Amalthea sits behind him.  
  
He can feel her hands pressed into his back, into the muscles, relieving the tension of the day with careful, well practiced hands. Her palms dig in to release knots that he wasn’t even aware were there and he swears that between the back massage and the warm water of the tub, he’s moments away from falling asleep at any moment.  
  
That is, however, when a gentle fingertip traces a line over his shoulder.

And then another.

There are a couple more touches before Cullen catches on to what she’s doing, and he turns his head to glance over his shoulder. The movement causes Amalthea to flinch, pulling away her hands at once.  
  
“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” She asks. He shakes his head.

“They’ve long healed, most of them are from years ago.”

“Ah,” A hand returns to his back, a feather-light touch that traces a scar Cullen knows is one of the deeper, uglier marks etched into his skin.

“They don’t… make you uncomfortable, do they?” Cullen asked, tone curious, and Amalthea almost seemed to tense up at that.

“O-of course not!” She stutters. “I-I mean, I know how much they would have hurt… But seeing them makes me feel a little better about all of mine,” her chest presses up against his back as her arms wrap around his waist, hugging him through the water, “it’s… almost as if we match…”

He smiles at that and retracts his arms back into the water. He places them over Amalthea’s, entwining his fingers with hers and closing his eyes.  
"Hm, it seems we do match," He murmurs.

He feels her head press into his back, between his shoulder blades, "just don't get any more, okay?"  
  
"I'll try my best."

"Promise me."

"I promise."  
  
"Good."

Her arms tighten around him, and he lets himself sigh happily.


	3. Worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B = Bodies (Cullen)

He honestly can’t get enough of her like this.  
  
She’s leaned with her back up against the headboard of her bed, legs splayed wide in an open invitation to him. Her thighs are already marked, _extensively_ , and it sends a little thrill down Cullen’s spine that he’s gets to see her like this, the Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition; a sweaty mess with love bites that only the two of them know are there.  
  
His mouth returns to its rightful place, firmly planted right up on her left thigh, barely inches away from the slick heat of her.  


_Fuck._  
  
His teeth gently give a nip to the soft, sensitive skin of her upper thigh, and he relishes in the pleased gasp that she makes in response. Her hands find their way once down to him, her fingers threading through his hair as he moves to plant a kiss onto her clit. Her back arches into the touch, wordlessly begging for more, and he’s more than happy to hold her hips in place as he goes to work. 


	4. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C = Cum

She wasn’t really sure how she found herself in this position, but it was not like she was going to complain any time soon. Cullen laid on the bed beneath her, head towards the headboard while Amalthea was propped up on all fours above him, her own head facing the bottom of the bed. The position came from compromise, she supposes, a mutual want to please the other that left Cullen’s head tucked comfortably between her thighs while her own mouth was planted firmly around his cock.

 _A compromise_ , she thinks amusedly to herself _._

She knows that they wouldn’t last for long like this, and it’s only a matter of time before her eyes close tight and her mouth opens in a gasp as she reaches her climax, she's too overwhelmed by the feeling to continue pleasuring Cullen. She doesn't have to though because through the haze of her orgasm, she feels Cullen tense and pulse, and he comes underneath her with his mouth still against her clit. With her face so close to his cock, it's not till it's too late that his release hits her, landing on her cheeks and chin. With her eyes closed, she avoids getting any in her eyes until he finishes, but when she finally manages to bring herself to her senses, she freezes.

She feels a drip fall from her chin and sees it land on Cullen's abdomen.

“... Cullen?”

His hands came up on her thighs to rub little circles, his head pulled away from her.

“You okay?”

“.... Could you... uh... get a towel please?”

“Oh? Oh!” He wiggles and twists his way out from beneath her to roll off the bed, and she sits down on the mattress, holding her hands out under her face to catch any drips that might fall onto the sheets. When he returns, he holds out the towel and she takes it, thanking him quietly as she did so.

She wipes herself slowly, almost as if to hide her face away from him. There’s a moment when the towel lowers enough for her eyes to meet his, and the two of them can’t help but to break out into quiet laughter.

“You owe me a bath after this,” she manages to say through her barely contained giggles, and Cullen just sets himself down on the bed next to her to give her a kiss on her newly cleaned forehead.

“I think I can manage something for you for this.”


	5. Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D = Dirty secret

_ Commander Cullen, _

_ I am afraid this letter does not contain instruction on troop assignments as I may have fooled you into thinking. I apologise for the misdirection, especially during a meeting with your lieutenants, however this letter does contain sensitive information of a different nature.  _

_ Writing a letter such as this fills me with great anxiety, lest it to fall into the wrong hands, however I will admit that this is something I've wanted to do for the longest time. There is a great number of things I wish to inform you about, but find myself much too shy to be able to tell you face-to-face. I do guarantee, that despite this though, I would be more than happy to discuss now you are informed of my wishes. _

_ Also If you would, I would like you to envision the following;  _

_ You laid out on our bed, eyes covered with the softest of silk ties. Red in colour, of course, as I could not imagine another colour suiting you better. Your arms too are tied and placed above your head, enough to keep them out of the way but not enough to properly restrain, just in case. With you like that, I would straddle your waist and kiss you gently. You would be so lovely like that, and I probably wouldn’t be able to refrain my lips wandering from yours, seeking to service you in a way that I know you would enjoy. After so many long nights of you seeking out my pleasure seeking nothing in return, I believe it is time that I returned the favour.  _

_ My mouth would wrap around you, and knowing your reaction you would probably let out a little gasp at the sudden heat of it. I would giggle, as I find it very cute to see you like this, reacting so honestly to what I do to you. My hands would assist with whatever I can’t fit into my mouth until I feel as if you’re close to your end. Then from there, I would slow, almost to the point where you are aching and begging for me to let you finish. Your voice, Maker, your voice would be so delightful to hear. I would tease it out a little, as you have done to me so many times if only to hear your noises, before finally taking pity on you.  _

_ As you may have guessed, I have spent some time considering the following, and there is most definitely more thoughts and ideas that I have too. However, they can be saved for another day. For the moment, I wish you the best in your meeting with your lieutenants, and hope I have not distracted you too much. _

_ Always yours, _ _  
_ _ Inquisitor Trevelyan _


	6. Almost Asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E = Experience

Amalthea was almost asleep when she heard Cullen’s footsteps on the rough wooden boards of their bedroom floor. She’d already settled herself under the covers in their room, promising him that she’d wait up while he put their daughter to bed. Her eyes flickered open slowly, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head as he finally approached.

“Mm,” she hummed, smiling as his shirt dropped to the floor and he sat down on the side of the bed.

“What's wrong?”

Amalthea blinks at Cullen’s question, “huh?”

“You're staring, is something the matter?”

“ No, nothing,” she paused, “You put Marie to bed, right?”

Cullen nods the affirmative, “Mm, yes.”

She reaches out to him, making a grabbing motion with her hands in his direction, “I want you…”

Cullen didn’t need telling twice. In moments he turned himself and laid down next to her, allowing her to let her hands frame his face before kissing him deeply.

Their movements were comfortable, well practiced. Amalthea raised herself up on her forearms to lean over him, parting their kiss momentarily.

“I almost fell asleep waiting for you, you know…” She murmured. Cullen just smiled lazily back up at her, a look she almost hated that he wore so well.

“Well I'm here now?”

Her mouth wandered from his, trailing soft kisses down the line of his throat, “you’ll need to make it up to me.”

She swears she feels goosebumps down her spine as she feels the rumble of laughter in his chest. Even then, years after they'd first laid together, she's still as enamored by him as ever. Even then, she couldn't help the little shiver as she felt his hands come to settle on her hips and his knee raised between her thighs.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, shifting as to catch her in another kiss.


	7. Frost

"Mmn.”

Amalthea’s teeth sink into Cullen’s shoulder, quieting the noises bubbling up from deep in her chest. His fingers curl, just enough to hit that little spot inside her that sends her arching into him. She’s careful to keep quiet, though. The thin canvas walls of the tent around them do just as little to keep the sound in as they do to keep the bitter chill of Emprise du Lion out.

There’s a faint voice in the back of her head insisting that this whole thing is a bad idea, that sleeping with her boyfriend-slash-military advisor while barely a few feet away from other soldiers' tents will lead to nothing but trouble. That voice is correct, of course, though promptly pushed far from her attention as Cullen curls those deliciously thick fingers inside her once again and she is left to moan quietly into the soft skin somewhere between his shoulder and his neck.

“Shh, I got you,” He murmurs, and she feels herself melt at that.

The sheets on the bedroll twist as he shifts, finding a better angle as for the flat of his palm to press firmly against her clit.

Her hips are moving faster now, her breaths hot and heavy in the air between them as she rocks into every movement of his hand, desperate for the contact. It almost seems all too soon, she lets out the quietest little gasp and she comes around his fingers. Cullen, ever dutiful, ever patient, just lets her ride through it till her thighs stop shaking and her head pulls back enough for her to look at him.

There’s not enough light in the tent to see his face properly, even with the fade-green glow from the anchor embedded in her left hand. She doesn’t really have to see him though to know exactly which lazy, lopsided grin he’s wearing. She lets out the softest huff of a laugh and brings up both her hands to cradle his face to guide her into a warm, gentle kiss.


	8. Desperation

There’s something hungry in the way the Inquisitor moves, hips moving to fill herself with as much of him as her body can take. She’s astride him, thighs pressing against his hips as she’s doubled over on top of him. Her hands claw at his chest and shoulders desperately and Cullen is more than aware of the marks that’ll show in the morning. He can’t really bring himself to care. Not with the way she’s riding him, slick, obscene sounds coming from where his cock slides effortlessly into her.

There’s a distant thought in his mind, however, one he can’t distract himself from. Even with the feeling of her soft flesh as he digs his fingers into her hips, even with the way she’s calling his name through clenched teeth like it's the only word she knows, even with the sensation of her inner walls starting to clench around him. He can’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest.

During his life as a Templar, he’s had many sleepless nights accompanied by the thought, that his life could be taken so easily by a mage or assassin or countless others who would mark him as their next kill.

But now? He has something more, something, no, _someone_ to live for, and that thought terrifies him.

Tomorrow is to be the final assault on Corypheus.

This time tomorrow night, they could both be dead.

Amalthea suddenly straightens herself on top of him, never stopping the movement of her hips, and Cullen’s attention is pulled from his spiraling heartache to her form above him. She uses a hand so slick back the sweat-drenched hair from her face. Her other hand is still firmly planted against his stomach, keeping her steady as she raises her hips and sinks back down on him in a quickening rhythm.

“M-Maker--” Amalthea gasps out, eyes fluttering shut. She’s so caught up in the feeling, she almost jerks when Cullen slides one of his hands from it’s position firmly planted on her hip, down to the apex of her thighs. His fingers seek out that little nub, just above where their bodies meet, and her back arches when he finds it.

“C’mon,” he coos softly, “there we go…”

“C-Cullen-- ah,” she gasps, head lolling forward.

“Close?”

She nods and lets out a whine, “I’m s-so close, Cullen, please-- don’t-- don’t stop.”

He does as she commands, rubbing quick circles around her clit in time to his thrusts up into her. Her jaw clenches and she grinds herself down against his hand, bucking until her entire body tenses. She lets out a string of curses, too quiet for him to be able to make out, and for a moment the air stills between them. Cullen looks up at her, watches as her muscles almost spasm with the intensity of her orgasm, then slowly go lax.

She remains on top of him, even as her eyes open slowly to look down at him beneath her.

“Cullen?” Her voice is hoarse, heavy and tinged with… sadness?

“Amalthea?”

“Please.”

Her voice is a desperate, hushed whisper in the overwhelming silence of the room. It makes his chest ache, even more so as she curls forward and cushions herself against his body..

“P-please,” she repeats again, and he has to wince this time. He can hear the choked back sob in her voice and he wraps his arms around her.

“Please, tell me it’ll be o-okay,” her voice cracks, and in a single movement Cullen rolls the pair onto their side, his softening cock slipping out from between her legs.

He can’t bring himself to say anything. He doesn’t know what to say, really. He tightens his arms around her, pulling her closer to his chest, unable to find the words he so desperately wishes he could have to comfort her.

“Cullen, I-- I don't want to lose you tomorrow... I don’t want-- either of us to die.”

He holds her that little bit tighter, unable to do anything but let her sob in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its almost midnight and this hasn't been beta'd so uhhhhhh I'm sorry


	9. The Battle

“What in Maker’s name are you reading?”

Amalthea peers over the top of her book to find Cullen standing at the end of her bed, hands on his hips as he looks at her with a quizzical look. He’d climbed the stairs of her chambers without her noticing, apparently. Catching her in the act of reading a trashy romance novel she’d picked up the last time she was in Denerim.

“I-- I--” She starts, unable to come up with a coherent explanation as to why she’s reading what could only be described as low-grade smutty literature, “it's a book.”

“I can see that,” Cullen acknowledges.

“Would you believe me if I said it was about Avvar culture?”

“Absolutely not.”

She sighs.

“It’s about an Avvar thane falling in love with a _wee Fereldan lass_ ,” she deepens her voice for the last couple of words, dropping into a gruff Avvar accent. “It’s… Not very well written, if I’m honest.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, “then why are you reading it?”

“Its… Uhh…” She hides her face behind the book, “interesting?”

Cullen takes that opportunity to have a closer look at the book’s cover. She knows it’s gaudy, to say the least. A man with rippling abs barely covered by furs, embracing a daintily-framed woman with long blonde hair.

“Uh-huh…” His brow furrows as he nods slowly, “read some to me.”

Amalthea’s face flushes red, and she shakes her head, “you don’t want me to do that…”

“You said it was an interesting book about Avvar culture, and I respect your opinion,” Cullen states, almost matter-of-factly, “I want to know if it’s worth my reading as well.”

He’s looking at her with the same patient look as he does when she’s speaking at the War Table, with a seriousness that he rarely brings into their private chambers. She sits there, mouth open in horror as she comes to terms with what he’s asking. It doesn’t help that the chapter that she’s up to in the book is particularly… _well…_

“You realise what you’re asking me to do, right?” She confirms. He responds with a nod and sits at the end of the bed, patiently waiting for her to start.

Amalthea sighs once more and accepts her fate.

“ _Jocelyn moaned and turned her head in search of his lips again, a relief when his mouth covered hers. She opened wide for him, welcoming his tongue’s thrusts. Her own tongue did battle with his briefly, and--_ H-hey! Don’t look at me like that!”

“In my years of military experience, I have never heard of tongues engaging in combat,” he’s laying across the bottom of their bed now, with a dumb, easy grin on his face, chin in hand as he props his head up with an elbow.

Amalthea swats him with the book, “you’re not allowed to make fun of this thing! You’re the one who asked me to read it to you in the first place!”

He laughs, “alright, alright. Keep reading. I need to know if making tongues battle is an effective strategy against Corypheus.”

“Don’t you even dare.”

He shrugs, and settles down to listen to her read once more.

“ _Jocelyn’s body was pulsing with her desire when Darleth Axe-Keeper knelt on the furs to lay her on them. Flushing, she grabbed for his hands to stop him as he began working on the ties of her gown, suddenly shy at the thought of seeing her unclothed…_ ”

She notices Cullen shift onto his back, arm covering his face. She peers over the book and nudges him with her foot.

“What’s so funny?!?”

“I remember you acting a lot like that during our first time together.”

“HEY!” Amalthea kicks him this time, with not enough force to actually hurt, but hard enough to make her point. “You dare talk about your Inquisitor in such a way?”

“ _My_ Inquisitor, huh?” He faces her once again and grins, not in that stupid, easy grin he wore before. This time, there’s something deeper to it, the hunger in his eyes outshining the humourous mood from earlier.

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously riled up over this badly written smut…”

“Absolutely not,” he says, matching his earlier tone of voice.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, closing the book and placing it onto her bedside table.

“C’mon then,” she urges, arms outreached to him, “get up here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dumb but I had a hell of a day yesterday and I needed smth to cheer me up ok


	10. Grey

The feeling of her fingers running through his hair is comforting. He never thought anything of the gesture before.

But now? As he lay against her as she sits against the headboard of their bed, much too tired to bother getting up and going about the rest of the day?

The touch is nice.

It’s a reminder of how things are outside the stress, the training, the rough, desperate movements as they barely find the time to be alone together. It’s a soft, leisurely touch that he eases into, eyes closed, heart warm and full.

\--

“Huh.”

“Hmm?” Cullen cracks open an eye, “what’s wrong?”

He feels a tug at his hair and a small, almost unnoticeable prick of pain. While her other hand still traces patterns into his scalp, she hangs the single strand of hair in front of his face.

“You’re going grey,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“That happens when you're under a lot of stress,” he states matter-of-factly, and she simply snorts in response.

“You’re turning into an old man.”

“Am not,” he tilts his head back to pout at her, her face upside down in his vision, “I’m barely thirty.”

She leans forward and kisses his forehead, “you’re ooooold.”

“As one of your advisors, I advise you to stop calling me old.”

“And as the leader of the Inquisition,” she announces, sitting up and letting her bare chest puff out, “not to mention _the Holy Lady Herald of Andraste_ ,” she plants another kiss, this time on his nose and lingers there, “I decree that I can do as I please, _old man_.”

Cullen tilts his head up, catching her lips with his own.

“Am not,” he repeats once more. Amalthea just kisses him again.

Their movements are easy, practiced. They’ve been through these motions many times before, although not quite so leisurely, and he feels like he’s moving through molasses. Muscles heavy as he turns to face her properly, he loses control as he delves into the heat of her mouth. His hands shift, smoothing over her waist, the underside of a breast, any and all skin exposed to him.

His mouth wanders and he finds his way down, down, past her navel, his head in his rightful place between her thighs. He teases a playful gasp from her, relishing in the way it melts into a moan as his mouth places a soft kiss to her clit. She’s still wet from their earlier engagements that morning, her hips buck up to the contact and her hands find their way down to tangle once again in his hair.

Amalthea’s touch isn’t delicate, isn’t tender like earlier. Her body still sensitive, yes, but as he finally sets himself to work, he feels the tug as her hands fist at his scalp. She chokes out his name as her hips rock into his face. All she wants, all she _needs_ , is him. He knows that. More than anything, he knows that.

His fingers slide effortlessly inside of her, and he uses his free hand to gently separate her folds as he continues to mouth over her core.

She’s never been able to last long like this, not with Cullen eating her out as if it were the very thing the Maker made him for. It’s a duty he’s honoured to have, his praise sung to him by the shake of her thighs slung over his shoulders, by the hands still curled in his hair, by the nonsensical noises tumbling from her mouth that might have once been _please, oh Maker-- Cullen, please, I’m so close._

It’s almost all at once that Amalthea’s back finally arches, her thighs tightening around Cullen’s head as she comes. Her whole body trembles and shakes with the intensity of her release, and he eases her through it. His hands and mouth slow but never stop, just keeping enough pressure on here to tide her over till her erratic movements finally halt.

Cullen pulls himself up and lies to her side, letting himself wear a satisfied smile as he looks on to the totally wrecked image of Amalthea before him.

“You’re… too good at that…” she puffs, sinking down properly into the bed and letting her eyes fall shut.

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’.”

“Pfff.”

They go quiet for a couple moments more before Amalthea speaks up once again.

“Huh.”

“Hmm?”

“I realised I’ll be twenty-six soon,” he turns to watch as she holds up her hands and stares at them, “Maker, _I’m_ so old.”

Cullen scoffs, rolling his eyes as he pulls her into his arms.


End file.
